


Sidereal in Retrograde

by KitLlwynog



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Ameridan lives, F/M, Post-breakup Lavellan, Solas isn’t dead so don’t worry, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLlwynog/pseuds/KitLlwynog
Summary: After Solas ended their relationship, Misyl Lavellan tried her best to distract herself with her duties as Inquisitor. They travel to the Frostbsck Basin to establish diplomatic relations with the Avvar and try to find the remains of the last Inquisitor. What they actually find is a dragon possessed by a spirit, imprisoned for 800 years by the still living Ameridan. Despite what the history books might say, he is a Dalish elf as well as a mage, and Misyl is desperate to learn all she can. But when Solas tries to save Ameridan’s life, he’s consumed by the spell.Now racked with grief and regret, Misyl returns home to prepare for the final confrontation with Corypheus. Relying on Ameridan’s expertise, the two become closer, but even as her broken heart heals, they learn that Solas may still be alive, in the past.





	1. Cloudreach: The Frostback Basin

Misyl crouched in the darkness, her breath steaming in the cold night air. “It’s time,” said the Avvar warrior ahead of her. She nodded.

“Cassandra, Varric, Solas, with me. We’ll draw their fire,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Ah, the decoys again. My favorite job,” Varric said, his voice dripping sarcasm. But he followed. She was the Inquisitor, and they trusted her, even… Misyl snorted out a breath, not even letting herself think his name. This wasn't the time for sentimentality. Cool magic settled over them, a barrier spell, and she drew her daggers from their sheaths. As soon as they passed into the flickering torchlight, a shout went up.

“It’s the lowlanders! Kill the Inquisitor!” Just once, she thought, it would be nice not to be greeted by death threats. A stockade of enormous logs loomed ahead, encircling what remained of the Tevinter structure. The Avvar warrior standing in the way was almost as massive as the gate he was guarding. Misyl darted forward and around as Cassandra charged from the front. Varric fired a volley, thunk, thunk, thunk, and as the last bolt skidded off armor, Misyl struck from behind, spin in, dart away. A deadly dance, but not for them. The Avvar dropped, sending up a cloud of dirt. The gate opened.

That was when the real battle began. The Jaws of Hakkon, they called themselves, cultists of a god gone mad. But Hakkon was a much more present god than Misyl was used to. He granted abilities to his followers, weapons that glowed with unmelting ice, unnatural strength and speed. It made them a real pain in the tail to kill. The last one in the courtyard fell with Misyl’s blade jutting under his ribs. She let herself take a breath, elbows on knees.

“Inquisitor? Are you injured?” Her heart leaped in her chest and she scowled. It was unfair, the power his voice still had over her. She wanted to hate him, but thus far, she had only halfway succeeded.

“Fine,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. She could see them in her mind, the color of the sky just before the stars came out and soft with sorrow. His sadness only made her angrier. It had been his decision to end their relationship, without warning or explanation. He had no right to be sad about it. She could feel him hesitating behind her, and she held herself still, hard and cold as a knife, just as he wanted it.

“Very well.” Only when she heard the sound of his footsteps moving away did she let herself relax, bending down to jerk her dagger free of the dead Avvar, and thinking, not for the first time, that she should have brought Dorian. 

She’d naively thought that time away from Skyhold would help Solas settle whatever problem he was having, and besides all that, the special relationship the Avvar had with the local spirits was right up his alley. But he hadn't shown any inclination to change his mind, or even explain himself, and it left Misyl in a perpetual bad mood. Dorian would've at least been fun. He would have been terribly amused by the bear, she thought as Storvacker lumbered past.

She shook out her limbs and wiped the sweat from her eyes. “The rest of them must be further inside the ruin. Let’s go.”

************************

“I should have brought Dorian, I should have brought Dorian,” she sang under her breath as they fought their way to the next fire. She had never been so cold in her life, and she’d almost died of hypothermia more than once, a lifetime ago on the streets of Ostwick.

“I am sorry I have proved to be such a disappointment to you, Inquisitor,” Solas said at her back, his voice as frozen as the icicles hanging from the ceiling. It was hardly his fault she'd brought an ice mage to the fight when they needed fire, but she was not in the mood for his snide remarks.

“Oh, don't even pretend like you give a fuck what I think,” she snapped, leaping forward to slash at the throat of a guy with a battle axe and a martyr’s smile. 

“Could you two save your marital spat for later? We’ve got a problem,” Varric called. She followed his pointing finger to where a group of mages stood around the leader of the Hakkonites, Gurd Harofson, chanting. 

“Damn! They're already doing the spell.” Desperation drove her to new effort, and her muscles took over. Dodge, twist, stab, duck, moves she had learned down to her bones, and finally, Cassandra struck the killing blow. Sometime during the battle the Avvar leader had transformed into a terrible twisted creature of ice and bone, but with his death, the unnatural chill faded from the air. Misyl panted with relief, the tension in her ribs easing, but she couldn't even have a second of rest. Cassandra grabbed her shoulder.

“Look up there!” Steps of stone fanned out from a pillar behind the altar, and on top of it was a person, leaning in a staff. Magic surrounded him in a net that led to the frozen form of the dragon, but it seemed thin and weak. Misyl staggered forward, not quite believing what she was seeing. He was a mage and an elf, Dirthamen’s vallaslin dark against his tan skin, but the heraldry on his armor was unmistakeable.

“Inquisitor Ameridan? You're alive?” He looked up at her, his eyes a startling pale green.

“You must be the new Inquisitor. I’m surprised that Drakon appointed another of the People so soon after me.”

“Drakon is long dead,” Misyl said, gentling her tone. This was going to be an unpleasant surprise. 

He bowed his head, sighing. “How long?”

“There hasn't been another Inquisitor since you disappeared, eight hundred years ago,” she said.

“That's impossible! Drakon would have sent someone,” Ameridan exclaimed. Misyl winced, but it was Cassandra who spoke.

“I’m afraid the Second Blight took up all of Drakon’s attention. By the time anyone was sent after you, the traces had disappeared.”

Ameridan drew in a shuddering breath, his fingers flexing in his staff. “And Telana? Does history say…” he swallowed, but Misyl knew what he was asking. She could have lied, told him something comforting and nice, but they had all been affected by the discovery of what remained of Telana’s spirit. He deserved to know.

“When you didn't return, she tried to look for you, in the Fade…” she began. 

“I told her not to,” he interjected, his voice cracking. “Being so near the spirit the Avvar call Hakkon had weakened her.” He bowed his head again, mastering himself, and then he sighed. “At the very least, I will be joining her soon.”

Something in Misyl rebelled at this. There was so much they could learn from him, that the Dalish could learn, and to see such a remarkable elf, by all appearances in the prime of his life, just give up… it was horribly depressing. “But… won't you at least help us defeat Hakkon for good?”

“I managed to bind us in time, but when the beast breaks free, I am afraid that eight hundred years will catch up with me rather quickly. I am proud to have met you, Inquisitor.”

Misyl felt like she was being cracked open. She didn't know why it bothered her so much. Perhaps she was simply tired of pointless sacrifice. “If I may?” Solas said, stepping forward. “I think I may be able to give you a bit more time. There is much the Inquisition could learn from you. History has preserved almost nothing of your life and legacy.”

Ameridan looked at him appraisingly. “Very well. I would give you whatever assistance I can.” Misyl watched with bated breath as Solas stretched out his hand and magic, glowing with the wild yellow-green light of the Breach, spooled out from his fingers. It wove itself into the spell surrounding Ameridan and Hakkon and then, with a violent CRACK, Misyl was thrown back off the pedestal and onto the ground. The air was driven from her lungs and her vision faded. 

“Inquisitor! Misyl!” Cassandra's frantic voice rang out against the stone. Misyl pushed herself upright, groaning at a stab of pain in her side. Definitely a cracked rib, again. Her ears were ringing. How long had she been out? It only seemed like a few minutes, but Hakkon was gone.

“I'm here,” she croaked, waving her arm, and Cassandra came running over, her armor clanking. 

“Thank the Maker you’re all right,” she said, offering her hand. Misyl let herself be pulled upright, gritting her teeth at the pain in her ribs.

“Is everyone else okay?” she asked. Cassandra didn't answer immediately, but she pursed her lips and blew a breath out her nose.

“Come and see.” They climbed back up the stairs where Varric was already waiting, rubbing his backside and frowning. 

Ameridan was sprawled on the ground, his eyes closed and his body still. Misyl knelt beside him, rolling him onto his back. His chest rose and fell. She put a hand to the side of his neck and felt his pulse, slow but strong.

“He's alive,” she said, sighing. “Probably in mana shock. We’ll have get him to the healers, but whatever Solas did seems to have worked.” She looked up at the others. “Where is Solas, anyway?”

Cassandra and Varric looked askance at each other before the Seeker answered. “We don't know. He has vanished.”

********************

Inquisition troops went through the old temple and the connected caves carefully, but there was no sign of Solas anywhere. No Hakkonites had been seen escaping the ruins, and there were no secret passages that any one could find. Hakkon, however, had been seen on an island in the lake near the first Inquisition camp, and the dragon could not be ignored.

“What should we do, Inquisitor?” Scout Harding asked. Misyl let out a breath. There was only thing to do, though it made her feel as if her heart was being ripped from her chest.

“Move out. Bring Ameridan to Stone Bear Hold, but keep things quiet. I can’t even imagine the kind of uproar that would ensue if word got out that the last Inquisitor was still alive.”

“We can take his armor,” Harding suggested. “Without that, he could easily pass as one of the scouts, perhaps even family of yours.”

Misyl considered this for a moment. She hadn’t been alone at the Conclave. A distant cousin, Rosal, had also been there, a contact among the mage rebellion. He was dead now, but the name seemed appropriate. “Tell people his name is Rosal Lavellan, a cousin. Cassandra and Varric and I will go take down Hakkon.”

“Without a mage?” Harding questioned, eyebrows raised. It was a bad idea to go without a healer, but there was little choice.

“Maybe one of the Avvar mages can help. We can't afford to wait.” 

“And what about… Solas?” Harding asked, a bit more hesitantly. Misyl clenched her fists. There was nothing to be done, and she wanted to scream.

“Keep your eyes and ears open, but we don't have any more resources to spare at the moment. Hopefully, Ameridan will have some idea what happened.”

*********************

As she lay on the ice several hours later, out of breath and with a badly twisted ankle, among other things, she knew she'd been foolish not to wait for a mage. Hakkon roared above her, but she'd managed to conceal herself at least partly beneath a rocky overhang, so she was safe for the moment. Varric was down, and she could hear Cassandra bellowing like an enraged bull. They couldn't give up. Misyl just needed to collect herself and down a healing potion.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and reaching for one of her fallen daggers, and then she felt a barrier spell slide over her. “Solas?” she murmured, but she knew it wasn't him. His magic was crisp and cold, like the ice magic that he favored; this felt like a spring breeze scented with growing things. Warm healing magic seeped into her bones, and a boot appeared in her line of vision.

“It seems like you could use some assistance, Inquisitor,” said a voice she could hardly believe. 

“Ameridan? What in Mythal’s name are you doing here?” she exclaimed as he helped her to her feet. He was dressed in plain Inquisition mage armor now, but his staff was his own. 

“No time for explanations now. We have a dragon to defeat,” he said.

She nodded, knowing he was right. “If you can go get Varric up,” she said, pointing to the prone form of her friend, “I'll help Cassandra. Please tell me you have fire magic.”

“Yes,” he said, his teeth flashing in a grin. She shook her head and dashed toward the dragon. Even with Ameridan’s help, it was a hard fight, but finally, they stood over the corpse of Hakkon, all of them exhausted, bloody, and covered in soot. Misyl pulled one of her daggers out of the dragon’s armpit as Scout Harding jogged toward them.

“That was… pretty amazing. I've never actually watched you kill a dragon before,” Harding said. It was the first time she’d seen her lead scout look awestruck, and it made Misyl uncomfortable. She quickly changed the subject.

“We couldn't have done it without my dear cousin, who was supposed to be convalescing,” she said. “I thought you were going to keep an eye on him.”

Harding grinned, shrugging. “He woke up a little while after you left. The healers said he was fine.”

“I thought you would need my help, since you were without a mage. It seems I was correct,” Ameridan said. Misyl winced at the reminder. She had managed, so far, to hold in her grief and fear regarding Solas, but she wouldn't be able to ignore it forever. “So don't be too harsh with Harding. She made a valiant effort to keep me in bed.”

“Valiantly told you just where to find some new armor too, I see,” Varric said, chuckling. “You really saved our asses though. I can't complain.”

“It was such an honor to fight beside you, Inquisitor Ameridan,” Cassandra said, her eyes gleaming. 

“The honor was mine,” he replied. “But Inquisitor Lavellan was right to try to hide my identity. So from now on, please call me Rosal.” Misyl was glad he approved of her choice of new identity. She’d briefly worried he might be upset by such a demotion in prestige.

But it was time to move on, and everyone looked to her to choose their next steps. “Let’s go back to Stone Bear Hold for now,” she said. “Once I've talked to Thane Sun-Hair, and we've had a chance to rest, we’ll make arrangements to return to Skyhold.”

***************

It was late evening when Misyl found him, in a small cottage at the edge of the village. Ameridan had requested that he be housed with the other troops, in order to maintain the fiction of his identity, but the news had spread, and the rest of the Inquisition forces were either too overawed by him to be comfortable or curious to the point of annoyance. Misyl would have to talk to them about keeping their mouths shut, but for now, the Avvar were happy to give him a place to himself for a night or two. She knocked on the doorframe. “Who is it?” came his voice from within.

“It’s me… I mean, Inquisitor Lavellan.”

“Come in, please.” She pushed open the door to find Ameridan seated in a chair in front of the fire, wearing a simple shirt and breeches with his hair hanging loose and still damp from a bath. “I was hoping we would get a chance to speak before we departed. I suppose I was assuming you would prefer I joined your forces, for the time being.”

Misyl blinked. She hadn't actually considered that he might not want to join the Inquisition because he'd fit in among them so well, but now she felt somewhat ashamed. “We could use your knowledge and expertise, but if you would rather not get involved, I don't think anyone would deny that you deserve a break.”

He nodded to the book on his lap. “Professor Kenric gave me this, to brush up on the past eight hundred years of history. Less than a century after my disappearance, the Exalted March drove our people from their homeland. And now, they tell me you've patched up a hole in the sky, created by one of the very magisters that brought the Blight to the world. I could never forgive myself if I sat idle, wallowing in grief, when I could be doing some real good.”

“I'm sorry about Telana. I know how difficult it is, to lose someone close to you,” she said, but it had been the wrong thing to say. Not to Ameridan, he only nodded, closing his eyes briefly, but she could feel her own tears welling up.

“Have a seat, lethallan,” he said, moving his bare feet from the stool he'd been using as an ottoman. It had taken Solas over a month to address her that way, as a friend and equal, rather than a child. She swallowed back a knot in her throat at the memory, and sat heavily on the stool. It was comfortable, if a bit wobbly. “I’m still trying to make sense of my grief. In a way, it is so fresh that I feel numb to it, but…” Ameridan rested his cheek on his hand and looked into the fire. “Looking around here, I can feel how much time has passed, and I think she would not want me to mourn overmuch when there is work to be done. But I don't think you came here to hear an old elf wax philosophical about his problems.”

Misyl was grateful he hadn't said anything about her obvious upset. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just wanted to ask you… The mage in my group, the one who broke the spell on you, has disappeared. I wondered if you had any idea what happened to him.”

Ameridan’s expression was pained. “It happened quickly, but as far I could tell, the spell took hold of him instead of me and he was consumed by it. I can't be sure what that says about his condition or whereabouts, but I would assume the worst.” She swallowed back a sob, and he leaned forward in concern. “He must have been important to you. Will you be all right?”

She took one shuddering breath and then another. Solas was never coming back. That was a truth she would have to live with. “I have to be,” she said in a hollow voice. “As I'm sure you know, the Inquisitor can't take a vacation.”

“Indeed,” he said. “If you would ever like to talk about it, you can always speak to your long lost cousin,” he said with a half-smile.

She sniffed and gave him a wavering smile in return. “Thank you. I'm glad you don't mind being related to me.”

“Not at all. It was a good idea. No one will question my presence. Human nobles are quite familiar with nepotism. You will have to tell me about the People as they are now on our journey back. I've heard you have a fortress.”

“Yes. Skyhold is about a weeks’ journey north thought the Frostbacks. I'd be happy to tell you about Clan Lavellan as we go.”

“Very well,” he said. “You never did tell me your first name. Wouldn't it be odd for your cousin to call you Inquisitor all the time?”

“I suppose it would,” she agreed, a bit embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it before. “My name is Misyl.”

“I look forward to working with you, Misyl,” Ameridan said. She took her leave soon after, feeling like an empty wine skin left out in the sun. When she laid down in her bed, she tried to keep herself from thinking of Solas, but it was no use. 

She thought of his voice, of that first moment in the Fade, and then the last, in Crestwood. Her heart thudded with love and despair. It wasn't just the fact that he was gone. She had made a sort of peace with the fact that she would never feel his touch again, but remembering the last thing she had said to him made her feel sick. It wasn't as if they hadn't said crueler things to each other in the past, but if she had known those would be the last words he ever heard… she didn't think she'd ever be able to forgive herself.


	2. Bloomingtide: Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group returns to Skyhold and Misyl starts going through Solas’s things. While speaking to Ameridan, Leliana interrupts with the news that Kieran has gone through the eluvian for reasons unknown.

The journey home to Skyhold felt interminable. Talking with Ameridan about the Dalish kept her occupied during the day, but the moment Misyl was left alone with her own thoughts, it was all she could to keep from collapsing from grief. Her dreams tortured her with memories of happier times with Solas, or else replayed images of his disappearance again and again. She took a lot of night watches, but the lack of sleep was starting to wear on her. Ameridan was telling her about magical training in the Dales of his time, and then suddenly he was shaking her shoulder.

“You've been falling asleep in the saddle, lethallan,” he said. “Are you well?”

“I haven't been sleeping that great,” she replied in a quiet voice. It was easier to admit something like that to him. He didn’t have any expectations about her reported invulnerability. Cassandra and Varric, and even Scout Harding were her friends, and she knew they cared about her, but she could see something else in their eyes too, sometimes. Hints of worship that made her feel sick to her stomach. Ameridan had no such illusions. He too had once been thrust in a position of power that he didn't want, and there was a sort of grim camaraderie between them.

“There are spells for that,” he said, “Or potions, if you know someone discreet. I can assist you later, if you wish. But Harding says we’re nearly there.” Misyl blinked and looked around. They'd been in the mountains for four days, and after a while every peak and boulder looked the same, but even so, she could feel the familiarity of this place. After more than six months in the fortress, Skyhold had become home to her more than anywhere else had ever been. If she strained her eyes, she could see the bridge in the distance. Even though she was relieved to be back, her shoulders tightened in anticipation of all the questions her inner circle would ask. No one had expressed any particular love for Solas after their breakup, but she couldn't imagine they'd be happy to hear that he was…. She swallowed. Even thinking the word was difficult. He was gone… that was bad enough, to imagine that he was dead… she shook her head.

“That's the bridge ahead,” she said, pointing down and to the left. Ameridan raised his eyebrows. 

“It is difficult to believe that such a large fortress has been here for hundreds of years, and no one was the wiser.”

“Some of the masons think the foundations are older than that. Before the fall of Arlathan, even. Terasyl’an Tel’as is the oldest name they could find,” Misyl said.

“The place where the sky was held back? Interesting,” Ameridan said, his eyes narrowing. “There's a story behind that. I wish I knew what it was.” A few minutes later, they were clattering over the bridge themselves. A horn sounded and Harding raised the Inquisitor’s banner. At the far end, the gate slowly opened. “This place is certainly defensible,” Ameridan muttered. “Supply lines must be a nightmare.”

When they arrived in the courtyard, it was chaos, as usual. Dennet and his assistants came for the mounts, and Misyl grabbed Solas’s pack as well as her own. She would have to go through it, a task she was not looking forward to, but that would come later. For now, she motioned for Ameridan to follow her up the stairs, and as they reached the first landing, Josephine was already coming to meet them.

“Inquisitor! I am relieved you’ve returned. We received a raven from Scout Harding three days ago, and I must say I found her report troubling. Is Solas truly…” she paused, clearly considering what to say.

“He's gone,” Misyl said, her voice coming out strange and rough. “Probably for good.”

“I see,” Josephine said, and there was a look of pity in her eyes. “And this must be your… cousin. The raven told us to expect him, and we’ve prepared a room over the garden.”

Misyl shook herself. “Right, uh, this is Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador. Josephine, this is Rosal Lavellan.”

“Pleased to meet you, ambassador,” Ameridan said. Misyl could tell that Josephine was dying for a real explanation, but at the moment, she didn't feel up to it.

“I think I'm going to go take a bath,” she said. “You can leave anything urgent on my desk, and I'll meet with everyone in the War Room tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Very well. Should I have dinner sent up?” Josephine asked. 

“If you would, that would be great,” Misyl replied, and then she walked to her quarters as fast as she could, to avoid any more uncomfortable conversations. As she departed, she could hear Ameridan assuring Josephine that whatever quarters she gave him would be fine.

There was something about a hot bath that made Misyl’s issues seem smaller, easily conquerable. Even now, when her biggest problem was essentially unsolvable, she came out of the bath feeling both comforted and refreshed. She shrugged into her robe and went into the main room. Someone had made sure the fire was roaring, Creators bless them, and the pile on her desk wasn't nearly as high as she expected. There was dinner, some sort of meat pie, and a teapot, still steaming, with a cup beside it and a sachet of herbs. Misyl sniffed it and wrinkled her nose at the medicinal smell. No wonder there was also a jar of honey on the tray. She picked up the teapot and spotted a note held underneath the spoon, written in Josephine’s neat, round script.

_Nothing on the desk is so urgent that it cannot wait until tomorrow, if you aren't feeling up to it. The tea is from your cousin. He said not to drink it until you are ready to sleep._

Misyl smiled. It was kind of Ameridan to go out of his way to help her, even though he was surely exhausted by the journey. She supposed he must be sort of person who kept busy to distract himself from grief. A half hour, she decided, was how long she would give herself for the papers on her desk, and then she would drink the tea. 

***********************

She slept without dreams and awoke, not feeling well, precisely, but much less strained. The situation in the War Room was tense. No one wanted to mention Solas, for fear of upsetting her, and they were still waiting on the troops to return from the Temple of Mythal. “Corypheus will make a decisive strike as soon as he can,” Cullen opined. “But until we know where he is, we’ll be flying blind.”

“My scouts are scouring the area for reports,” Leliana said, shaking her head. “He left his remaining Templar troops to die, and the Venatori have all pulled back. Once I know something, I will tell you.”

They set up a few minor operations, but everyone left the meeting unsatisfied. As Misyl walked out of the War Room, Morrigan stepped into her path. The two women had never truly trusted one another, and after the temple of Mythal, they did so even less. So sympathy was just about the last thing she expected. Morrigan looked almost nervous, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Inquisitor, I… know we have not always agreed on what course should be taken, but we are still on the same side. I am sorry to hear about Solas. I know he meant a great deal to you, despite recent events, and even though I argued with him frequently, I respected both his power and expertise. However, now we must turn our attention back to Corypheus. We cannot defeat him if we cannot discover how he has managed to become immortal, and I believe the voice of the Well of Sorrows could tell you, if you were able to hear it properly.”

It had been a spur of the moment decision to drink. Misyl had recognized that they needed the knowledge contained in the Well, but she hadn't trusted Morrigan. And she'd been a bit bitter over the witch’s constant prattling about elven history when it was clear that most of what she claimed to ‘know’ was stolen from the Dalish or half-understood and clouded by Chantry nonsense. But once Misyl had actually taken the plunge, the constant, barely-heard whispers in her head had nearly driven her insane. Solas had taught her how to block it out, mostly, but he had warned her that whatever geas the Well had put on her, whatever price it had demanded, remained. She shivered, but she wouldn't give Morrigan the satisfaction.

“I intend to first go through Solas’s effects, to see if he had any ideas on the subject. I will only open myself to the Well as a last resort. There may be knowledge there, but it doesn't come for free.”

Morrigan pursed her lips, evidently frustrated. “I understand that you may need a moment to grieve, but we cannot delay forever. I have no intention of letting the world fall to another darkspawn after defeating the archdemon.”

“Neither do I. If I need your assistance with anything, I will come and speak to you. If you wish, you might assist the librarians with translations, now that Solas will not be able to,” Misyl said, backing away, but in her heart she wondered if Morrigan was right. Why did she accept the price of the Well if she wasn't willing to use its power? Her steps led her to the rotunda, unconsciously seeking a place of refuge that was no longer there. The room was the same, but it brought no comfort, only memories. 

She ran her hands over the latest fresco, still unfinished, steeling herself before turning to the desk. In her exhaustion of the previous evening, she had set his pack on right on top of the pile of books and papers that always littered the surface, and now she winced, lifting the bag carefully to the ground. 

The books on the desk were all related to the Veil and the Fade, aside from a few papers in Elvhen awaiting translation. She recognized these as charcoal rubbings from the temple, and she set them aside for later. It felt like intruding, going through his things like this, but he was gone. Better it was her than anyone else. 

Once the items on the desk were sorted, she turned to the pack, her fingers shaking as she fumbled with the toggles. The flap fell open, and the first item on top was one of his shirts, sage green and much mended. She couldn't stop herself; she brought the shirt to her face and breathed in deeply. In their time apart, she had almost forgotten what he smelled like, a mix of old books, campfire smoke, and herbs. Tears sprang to her eyes. 

There was a knock on the door. She dropped the shirt, heat creeping up her neck. “Come in.”

“Inquisitor,” Ameridan said as he opened the door, and his eyes took in the room and her expression. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“No, I… could use the distraction. This was Solas’s study. I'm just going through his things,” she said, waving her hand vaguely at the desk and swallowing back a knot of emotion. “What did you need?”

“I was talking to Ambassador Montilyet last night about what assistance I might provide the Inquisition, besides my own personal knowledge. She thought I should speak to you about it,” he said, stepping into the room. His eyes were gazing at the murals with curiosity and wonder.

“There are plenty of options, even without knowing all of your abilities. You could help train the younger mages, or do research, translation, or healing. We have two other mages who can come out with me in the field, but if you're interested, I’d be happy to have you.”

Ameridan smiled. “I've never been one for sitting idle. Drakon always used to tease me about being the least scholarly mage he'd ever met. I'd be happy to talk to your mages about old Dalish training techniques, if they're interested, but I'll be ready to join you whenever you need my assistance.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” she said. “Dorian Pavus and Enchanter Vivienne are our other mages. You may wish to speak with them if you have a moment.”

“Your ambassador did tell me a bit about them. It is strange to think of a mage from Tevinter coming to aid the South willingly, and I can’t say I care much for what I’ve read about the Circles as they are today, but I will talk to them when I can. She mentioned Solas as well. He painted these?” he said, gesturing to the murals. 

Misyl nodded, biting her lip. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? He said he wanted to make sure that the truth of the Inquisition wasn’t forgotten.”

“It’s an art form our artisans were still trying to perfect in my time,” Ameridan said, walking over to the panel that depicted the ball at Halamshiral. “I’ve never seen it done so well. And from what I remember, he wasn’t even Dalish. I wonder where he learned it?”

She snorted a breath out of her nose, remembering how often he had made his dislike of the People plain. In time, she had grown to understand some of his anger, even as he had begun to reconsider his feelings, but now, all of her emotions seemed to be boiling just under the surface, bringing up things she thought were long buried. “He definitely wasn’t Dalish. He was an apostate of… somewhat mysterious origins. Everything he knew was either self-taught or learned in the Fade, he claimed. He was a Dreamer. Possibly the only one living, if our research is correct. I doubt Cassandra and Leliana would have let him join the Inquisition at all, except he was the only one who knew anything about the Breach. He led us to Skyhold as well, after Haven was destroyed by Corypheus.”

Ameridan’s eyebrows flicked upward. “Interesting. I’m even more sorry I will not have a chance to speak with him. Though,” he added with a grimace, “Not as sorry as you are, I expect. I’m sure it’s a subject you aren’t eager to discuss right now.”

Misyl sighed and plopped down on one of couches against the wall, gesturing for Ameridan to take a seat somewhere. “Actually, it’s a bit of a relief to talk to an outside party. Everyone here has… strong opinions about Solas. We… parted ways somewhat suddenly, and I admit I didn’t take it very well. Now that he’s gone…” 

“You regret your anger because, even if justified, it cannot be taken back,” Ameridan supplied, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “Drakon and I fought, just before I left Orlais. I know it isn’t the same, but I also wish his last memory of me wasn’t one of anger. I’m glad at least that Telana and I parted on good terms.” His eyes gazed into the middle distance, as if he could see back into that moment. “Even though I didn’t realize that our parting would be forever, it was more of a farewell than you were allowed.”

“I told him not to pretend that he cared about what I thought. That was during the battle with the Haakonites, the last thing I ever said to him. I was furious that he wouldn’t explain himself,” she said, clenching her fist. “I still am, but…”

“Of course, you cannot help but remember the good times, now that they are irretrievable,” he said. “You should treasure those memories, lethallan. The world is too full of sorrow to allow moments of love to be forgotten, even when they are colored by grief.” There was a gentle smile on his face, and Misyl knew he must be remembering something pleasant. She was, for a moment, a bit jealous of long-dead Telana. At least she had known, in the end, that she was loved. 

Misyl’s head turned as she heard the sound of feet running across the main hall. The steps were Leliana’s, without a doubt, but for some reason the Spymaster was not trying to be stealthy.

“Inquisitor! You must come. Morrigan’s son has run into the eluvian and she has gone in after him. Maker only knows what could happen,” Leliana said breathlessly.

Misyl shot to her feet. “How did Kieran even activate it? I thought it was guarded.”

“We don’t know. Obviously, Morrigan was in no shape to give us answers. She was understandably distraught.”

“You have an eluvian? A working one?” Ameridan exclaimed.

“It’s a long story. You may as well come along,. I might need a mage.” Misyl replied, and they all ran through the garden to the room where the eluvian was kept. It was glowing with power. She heard Ameridan draw a sharp breath behind her, but there was no time to waste. “Let’s go.” They plunged into the rippling field of energy. It felt like she was being turned inside out, and then she emerged. In the Fade. After Adamant, she would know the twisted landscape anywhere. Ameridan stumbled as he came out of the eluvian, and she grabbed his arm to steady him.

“By the Creators… where are we?” he muttered.

“It looks like the Fade,” she said. “But I don’t know how that’s possible.” Her eyes darted around, her ears pricked for any sound. What if this was some sort of trap? “Morrigan? Kieran? Are you here?”

“Inquisitor!” Morrigan’s voice sounded from just ahead. “We are here!” Misyl pursed her lips, but moved forward cautiously, motioning for Ameridan to follow while keeping a hand on the hilt of one of her daggers. It was only a short jog through what looked like the half-melted ruins of some ancient elven structure before they could see Morrigan in the distance. Kieran was in front of her, alive and well, but also someone else, an older woman with an elaborate hairdo. The voice of the Well, held in check by mental barriers all this time, started to sound in Misyl’s ear again, and she shook her head as if that might clear it. 

“Inquisitor Lavellan, I’ve been anxious to meet you,” said the old woman, he voice as strong and harsh as a raven’s cry.

Misyl frowned. “Who are you? Was it you who brought us here, to the Fade?”

“This isn't the Fade truly. Just a part of the in-between place that is quite nearby. I'm surprised you don't know who I am. It was you who drank from the Well, was it not?”

“She does not know how to use it,” Morrigan said sourly. “The power is wasted on her. But I do not see what that has to do with anything.”

“Lavellan is perfectly capable of utilizing the knowledge of the Well, I am sure. Unshield your mind, girl, and listen. What do the voices say?”

Misyl glanced at Ameridan. She had never trusted Morrigan, and she trusted this newcomer even less. He nodded once; he would have her back, should anything go wrong. She sighed out a breath and focused herself, relaxing the walls she had learned to put up between her mind and the whispering voices of the Well. The second they were free, they were practically screaming. She gasped. “Mythal. They say you're Mythal! How can that be?” 

“Yes, mother, how can that be? The High Keeper of Mythal’s temple told us she was murdered, ” Morrigan said, eyes narrowed.

“I clung to life, a shard of my former self, for thousands of years in the Fade, but finally something called me forth. Flemeth cried out for vengeance, betrayed as I was betrayed, as the world was betrayed. I came to her aid.”

“You possessed her, you mean,” Misyl said with an arched eyebrow. Now that they'd delivered their message, the voices of the Well died back to their normal whispers.

“Nothing so crude as you imagine,” Mythal said, “We are one. And ever since I have watched over history. Guiding it when required.”

“But if that’s true, why did you never return to the People? We needed you. From what I have seen, we need you more than ever,” Ameridan said.

“Ah, the last Inquisitor. I certainly never imagined I would run into you, and yet, here you are, with a chance to redeem your legacy from centuries of lies. You and Lavellan are both a credit to the People and all they have accomplished since the fall of Arlathan. But my goals are larger than the fate of the last elvhen. They have gotten on well without me thus far.”

Hot rage boiled up Misyl’s throat. She raised her fist, and felt a hand land on her shoulder. “I understand your anger, lethallan, but now is not the time,” Ameridan said. She could see by the set of his jaw that he wasn't any happier about this situation than she was, and she knew he was right. If she was really Mythal, no good could come of angering her, and they had come for Kieran.

“Smart lad,” Mythal said with a satisfied smile. “Your coming was an accident, and yet, one small pebble may be enough to change the course of even the mightiest river. Caution is needed, however, when mucking about with time. If you were not the only one displaced, the flow of reality may become unstable.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

“You'll know when the time comes. Until then, keep your eyes open, and be grateful for this second chance at life,” Mythal said.

“Delightful,” Morrigan said dismissively. “But I came for my son. You have no business with him.”

Mythal raised her eyebrows. “So protective. When your first heard of the ritual, you claimed the child was nothing but a means to an end.”

“That was before I carried, birthed, and nursed him at my breast. Whatever my intentions, he was conceived and raised by a family that loves him. I will not let you interfere!” Misyl was nearly as taken aback by Morrigan’s outburst as her mother was. Not that she doubted the self-proclaimed witch loved her son, but Morrigan had been so evasive about Kieran's father that Misyl had assumed she didn't know who he was.

“You may have had a change of heart, but I will have my due. Either let me take the boy, now, and be safe from me forever, or take him, and know that I will never stop pursuing you.”

“I would hand over my own body before I let you lay so much as a finger on him,” Morrigan snarled, and her hands glowed with magic. Misyl barely had time to wonder whether she should intervene before her body started moving on its own, interposing itself between Morrigan and Mythal. “What are you doing?!” Morrigan shouted.

“Nothing! This isn't me! I can't stop!” Misyl shouted back.

“I believed you were warned that the power of the Well came with a price,” Mythal said cooly. Misyl felt sick. Solas had warned her about this very thing.

“Please, stop this!” cried a high, thin voice that Misyl realized was Kieran. He was tugging on Mythal’s sleeve, and she looked down on him with raised eyebrows. “I'll go with you. Just don't hurt my mother.”

“Kieran, no!” Morrigan called out in anguish. “Take me! If you ever cared for me at all, leave my son out of this.” A spasm of unreadable emotion crossed Mythal's face. 

“Very well.” Misyl sunk to the ground as she abruptly regained control of her body, feeling exactly like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Ameridan was looking at her with wide eyes. “I will take the soul of Urthemial from Kieran, and be on my way. He will take no harm, but from now on, he will be an ordinary boy.”

Morrigan let out a sigh. “Is that what you want?” she asked her son.

“I won't have any more of the dreams?” he asked, looking up at Mythal.

“No more dreams,” she confirmed, her tone unexpectedly gentle.

“Then please, take it away.” With a twist of her fingers, Mythal drew something out of the child, a strand of something wispy and ephemeral that coalesced into a glowing orb. When it was complete, she closed her fist, and it disappeared. Kieran sighed, but he was smiling.

Mythal looked over at Morrigan with something akin to grief. “I cannot take a host who was unwilling. You were never in any danger from me.” She turned to walk away, and then stopped and wagged her finger at Misyl. “Remember what I said about time, girl. And listen to the Well. I don't want to have to take matters into my own hands again.” Then she walked away, fading into the distance like a ghost. 

Kieran ran to his mother, and Morrigan embraced him. “Why didn't you tell me you'd been speaking to her? I was worried sick!”

“She made me promise. Grandmother didn't hurt me,” the boy replied, and Morrigan kissed his temple, stroking his hair. Misyl turned away, still feeling somewhat limp, and a hand reached down to help her up. Ameridan was looking down on her with a bemused expression. 

“Is your life always like this?” he asked as he pulled her to her feet. “I know being the Inquisitor is stressful, but I certainly never went through a magic mirror to intervene in a deity’s familial disputes.” 

Misyl snorted. “It’s been that kind of year,” she said, leading the way back to the eluvian. She figured Morrigan could find her own way out. “I could use a drink. Would you like to join me?”

“Now that you mention it, I think I would.”

*************************

“Are you going to tell me what's really going on?” Dorian asked. They were sitting at a corner table in the Herald’s Rest, out of the way of the more raucous group in the center of the room. Iron Bull was regaling everyone with tales of dragon fighting and Ameridan was watching with keen interest, offering occasional, vague commentary. He was better at concealing his identity than she might have expected.

“What? About what?” Misyl replied, glancing back at Dorian, two glasses of wine making her thoughts a bit muzzy.

“About your ‘cousin’,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “Surely you don't expect me to be foolish enough to believe that story. You've never mentioned having a cousin before. You don't look even remotely related.”

“Oh.” Misyl grinned. “I thought Varric or Josie would have filled you in. Let's go for a stroll.” They headed out to the battlements, and once they reached a quiet corner, Dorian cast a muffling spell over the area. Misyl told him everything.

“So Solas is gone, and in return, we have a living legend,” he said, toying idly with the end of his mustache. “You seem to be handling it well.”

She looked out over the snow-covered peaks, the cold air stinging her cheeks. “I'm trying not to dwell on it,” she said. “I mean, there's nothing I can do, and he was the one who broke things off. All of us could be killed at any time. At least… at least he didn't suffer.” The tears were threatening again. Dorian put his arm around her shoulder, and a moment later she was sobbing into his fine fur cloak.

“Get it all out while you can,” he said, patting her back. “Maker knows Cullen would have a kitten if you cried in the War Room. You might mess up his map.”

Misyl snorted. “That's not very nice. I thought you two were getting along.”

“We are. I just knew it would make you laugh,” he said, smirking. “So what do you make of Ameridan? Is he everything the legends say about him? He's certainly much more… elven and magical than I expected.”

“Strange how the history books overlooked that, isn't it?” Misyl shook her head, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “He’s capable in battle, from what I've seen. Otherwise, he is… kind. Everything he does is very measured and thoughtful, but unlike Solas, he's not particularly studious. Good sense of humor. He fit in well with Cassandra, Varric, and I.”

“Not bad looking either, for eight hundred years old,” Dorian said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Thinking of stepping out on Bull, are you?” she said, elbowing him playfully in the ribs.

“Perish the thought. I didn't mean for me,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. “You seem to have a good rapport, and you can't deny that he's clearly your type.”

Misyl shook her head, but she could feel her ears getting hot. “That is… This isn't the time for that. I mean, we've both just lost someone, and he's only been here a week.”

“Ha. So you do like him. I knew it,” he chortled, and she glared.

“I think he’s fascinating, because of all that's he's seen and done. And fine. He has nice eyes. But we are not talking about this anymore. And if you tell anyone, I swear I will tell Sera to put scorpions in your underwear drawer.”

Dorian put his hand over his heart. “My lips are sealed, I swear. But I don't think you should dismiss the idea out of hand.”

She scowled over the ramparts. Even if they hadn't been in the middle of a war, she was loathe to even consider opening herself up to that kind of heartbreak again so soon. Or ever. “I have other things to think about.”


	3. Late Bloomingtide: Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ameridan and Misyl investigate the power of the Well of Sorrows, and find out their next move. Misyl struggles with the discovery that Solas was keeping secrets.

A few days after their unexpected meeting with Mythal, Ameridan found her again. Or, more precisely, she found him, nearly colliding with him in the doorway of the mage tower while carrying a stack of papers from Solas’s study. Of course, the papers went flying. “My apologies, Inquisitor. I didn't see you there,” he said, stooping down to help her pick up the mess.

“There's no way you could have,” Misyl replied with a chuckle. “It was an accident.”

“A fortunate one,” he said, grinning. “I've been meaning to come and speak with you.”

“I hope everything is all right,” she said, her brow furrowing as he placed the last paper on the stack. 

“Don't worry. I haven't come to complain. The mages have been quite interested to hear what I have to say. At least, they were after Madame le Fer was through with them.”

“Oh, you’ve been speaking to Vivienne? I was wondering if you two would get along.” Misyl respected the Enchanter, but there were some subjects on which they were never going to agree. For the most part, they avoided each other.

Ameridan’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “I think she was curious whether I would prove to be a rival or an ally. Once she saw that I was not interested in the Game, she became much less steely, and she made sure the others were aware that I am not just a backwater elf come to share herbal recipes. Once they saw what I could do, they were eager to hear what I had to say, and they seem none the wiser about my true identity.”

“I wish she would let me ignore the Game,” Misyl grumbled, though in her heart she was grateful. As much as she disliked Vivienne's aims, there was no better person for keeping the mages in line.

“Unfortunately, you cannot. You are the head of a powerful organization. Skyhold’s remote location does give you some insulation from the worst of court machinations, but if you want the cooperation of Orlais, you can't be indifferent to their politics.”

“I know, I know,” she said, sighing heavily. “But it's my least favorite part of this job.”

“As it was mine. At least you have other capable people who can help you. Both Lady Montilyet and Leliana seem to know what they're doing.”

“That's true. Without them, who knows how many people I'd have offended by now?”

“A struggle I'm all too familiar with,” he said. “But enough about that painful subject. I wanted to ask you some questions about what happened a few days ago, with the mage, Morrigan. If there's a place where we could speak privately, that would be even better.”

“Oh.” She should have expected that he'd have a lot of unanswered questions about that whole thing. Leliana would've said it was none of his business, but Misyl wanted to trust him. After all, taken so far from his home and his life, what would he have to gain by betraying them? 

“Yeah, just let me drop off these papers…” As far as a meeting place, there wasn't anything really private in Skyhold except for her quarters, and that was a little too private. She didn't want Dorian to get any ideas… “Actually, I know just the place. Come down to the basement, down the steps from the garden. There's a small, creepy, old library down there.”

“It sounds delightful. Shall I meet you in a half an hour? I'll even bring lunch, as I suspect you haven't eaten.”

Misyl winced. “You know me too well already.” He grinned and turned back into the garden, and she went about her business, which was delivering Solas’s notes about the shards revealed by the ocularum, as well as measurements of the Veil. It was a lot of magical theory that went way over head, but she was hoping the other mages could make some sense of it.

*********************

After a stop by the kitchens, Ameridan found the steps that led into the basement fairly easily. It was a huge area, unused and eerily silent. He could hear the sound of rushing water somewhere nearby. Reasoning that books would be stored away from the damp, he crossed to the other end of the space, passing by storage rooms and a wine cellar, and opened the first closed door he came to. It was barely bigger than a closet, just a desk, a chair, and bookshelves all the way up to the ceiling. Judging by the dust, no one ever came in here. He piled up the books littering the desk and set them aside, wiping the dust away before setting out the food and drink he'd procured. While he waited for Misyl, he examined the titles on the shelves. He was surprised to see that they were mostly in Elvhen.

The door opened. “I’m not late, am I?” Misyl said breathlessly. He smiled, shaking his head.

“Right on time, lethallan. I can't believe no one comes down here. These books are all in Elvhen. I have no doubt that many are rare treasures.”

Misyl raised her eyebrows, coming to stand next to him. “That's strange. You'd think someone would've checked. Solas never mentioned it, and I know he visited often. I think most people tend to forget this library even exists.”

“Hmmm,” he said, his eyes narrowed in thought. He started casting a spell, one that would reveal the remnants of old spells, and she watched him intently. She was a naturally curious person, he thought, but it was tempered by suspicion, no doubt gained over a lifetime of troubles. He had a feeling that she was inclined to trust him, and he found himself very much wanting to reward that confidence. “There are magical traces here. As I suspected, someone was trying to hide this library.”

“Hide it? But everyone knows about it,” Misyl said, chortling. “They didn't do a very good job.”

“No, don't you see?” Ameridan said, gesturing to the neglected bookshelves. “That's the genius of it. The magic didn't make the room invisible, it made it forgettable. Everyone knew it was here, but no one thought it mattered. No one thought about it at all, until today, I expect. Judging by the timing of the spell’s fading, I suppose you can guess who was responsible.”

“Solas,” she said with pursed lips. He could see the briefest flicker of pain in her eyes. “What was he hiding?”

“The only way to find out is to go through all these books, a task which I suppose will have to fall to you and I. But first, let's have our lunch, and you can tell me a bit more about what happened when we went through the eluvian.” There was only one chair, and Ameridan offered it to Misyl, but she refused. They stared at each other for several seconds, arms crossed over their chests. Then Misyl laughed and pushed the chair out into the hall, and they both sat on the floor, leaning side by side against the desk.

“So, what do you want to know first?” Misyl asked, once she’d eaten enough that her stomach was no longer growling. It was just roast chicken and goat cheese rolled in flatbread, but she’d forgotten to eat breakfast, so it was basically the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

His brow furrowed. “I suppose the first thing I am curious about is where we went, when we traveled through the eluvian. You said it looked like the Fade, but it wasn’t like any part of the Beyond I’ve experienced. And you aren’t a mage.”

“True, but I have this,” she said with a wry grimace, holding up her left hand. The vivid green magic sparked as if knew it was being discussed. “I’ve been in the raw Fade, physically, a couple of times. Not an experience I enjoyed much. When we met Mythal, it looked like the Fade. It had the green sky and weird building, but it didn’t feel as alien.” His eyes widened, but he accepted her explanation, which was nice. Most people who hadn't been at Adamant acted like the stories were ridiculous.

“And you received that mark when the Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed, correct? I believe Josephine said you were the only survivor.”

“Yeah,” Misyl said, shuddering at the memory. “I was sent there as a spy for clan Lavellan, posing as a servant. I interrupted Corypheus’s ritual by chance, and when I picked up the orb, it gave me this mark, the Anchor. I survived because I opened a rift into the Fade, probably by accident. We didn’t know how Corypheus made it, at the time, but it turns out he can use the Blight as some sort of carrier. If he’s killed, he just hops into the nearest blighted creature and takes them over.”

“And that is what you are trying to figure out how to stop. May I?” he asked, indicating her hand. She nodded, and he lifted her hand as if it was a delicate piece of porcelain and peered at the slash of green light across her palm that was the Anchor in its dormant state. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“It stings a bit on occasion. More when I’m actually closing a rift. It hurt a lot at first because it was unstable, but after I closed the original rift, it got easier. It doesn’t hurt when it’s touched, if that’s what you mean,” she added. He prodded her palm with gentle fingers and she could feel his magic reaching out in inquiry. She suppressed a shiver.

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The power is raw and wild. I only hope that you can keep it under control,” he said, releasing her hand. “Not that I doubt your abilities, but too much power coursing through a person is rarely healthy.” 

“You’re not the only one worried about the long-term consequences,” she said, flexing her fingers. “But I can’t get rid of it, short of cutting off my arm. I’m pretty sure if there was a way, Corypheus would’ve figured it out already.”

“I wonder,” Ameridan said quietly, and then he shook his head. “But tell me about the Well. All I know is that you have it, Morrigan seems to resent you for it, and it is tied to Mythal.”

Misyl sighed. She had expected this question, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to it. Her feelings regarding the Well of Sorrows were complicated. “We found out that Corypheus was interested in an untouched elven ruin in the Arbor Wilds. Morrigan believed that he wanted to use the eluvian there, to get into the Crossroads. That's like… a space in between this world and the Fade, which connects all the eluvians. Where we met Mythal is part of that, according to her. Anyway, we went to this temple, and it wasn't abandoned. There were elves there, ancient elves who'd been isolated since the time of Arlathan.”

“How is that possible? It's been thousands of years,” he said in a hushed voice. His eyes were shining with hope and excitement that she knew too well. What might the Dalish learn from such people, elves that knew the world before Tevinter?

“They claim that they were asleep or… something. The Temple was sealed before Arlathan fell. The High Keeper saidd that Mythal was murdered, and she confirmed as much. A few of the Sentinels joined the Inquisition. I suppose they'll arrive with the rest of the army soon… So, when we got inside the temple, we found what Corypheus wanted was really something called the Well of Sorrows. It's a sort of repository of the knowledge of every High Keeper of Mythal. We convinced the sentinels to let us drink from the Well, but it was a one time thing. Morrigan wanted to, but I didn't trust her, so I did it myself,” Misyl said, grimacing as she remembered both the unpleasant experience and Solas’s fury afterward.

“That explains her attitude. And the price of the Well seems to be that Mythal can control you at will,” he said thoughtfully. 

“I hope that's all there is to it,” Misyl replied. “I was warned about the price, by Morrigan and Solas and the High Keeper, but I knew we needed the knowledge. As soon as the voices started whispering in my mind, I regretted it. Solas taught me to block them out, but now, I think that listening to them may be the only way to stop Corypheus.” 

“You fear where this power will lead you,” he said, not judging, but stating a fact. Misyl drew her knees up to her chest.

“I've never wanted power or secret knowledge. I was a hunter, and became a spy only to serve my Clan. I never envied mages. But I chose the Well, and it cannot be taken back. I'm… ashamed to be so weak.”

“There is no weakness in being wary of a power you co not understand, lethallan,” Ameridan said. She turned her head and his face was unexpectedly close, his pale green eyes radiating warmth and concern. “Mages are ever counseled to be cautious with our power, and I think it is good advice for everyone. But you are correct in that it would be foolish to let this gift go to waste when it may prove the solution to our greatest problem. If you will allow me, I believe I can assist you in learning to utilize this power.”

Misyl looked at him, swallowing hard. Solas has offered to help too, and she hadn't been ready, and then he had left her. After that, she would've sooner asked Sampson for advice. It felt odd, how ready she was to trust Ameridan. A betrayal of Solas’s memory, but then, all of the choices had been his. She couldn’t ignore the Well forever. “All right.”

“We can start tomorrow. I think first thing in the morning would be best, so that your mind is sharp.”

“You've never seen me first thing in the morning, then,” Misyl said wryly, and he laughed, an open, hearty sound so unlike Solas’s secretive chuckling. They had some similarities, but at their core were very different people. It lightened her heart.

“After breakfast, then,” Ameridan said. “If you meditate in the evening, you're just as likely to fall asleep as to learn anything useful. But we should meet somewhere more comfortable than this. At least somewhere with chairs.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. The rotunda would've been the obvious choice, except for the constant cawing of Leliana’s ravens, and Misyl’s own reluctance to spend any more time there than she needed to. “I suppose you can come up to my quarters. It's quiet, and it has chairs.”

“Very well,” he said, clearly unaware of her internal dilemma. “In the meantime, I'm going to take a few of these books to my rooms for later perusal.”

“You'll have to tell me what you find,” Misyl admitted, her guts churning with shame. “The Dalish only teach the First to read Elvhen.”

Ameridan raised an eyebrow. “I suppose they don't have the resources to teach everyone, but I am saddened for your sake. Unfortunately, this is hardly the time to learn it. I will let you know if I discover anything of interest.”

*********************

“Am I dealing you in, Daggers?” Varric’s voice penetrated the turmoil of Misyl’s thoughts.

“What? Oh yeah, go ahead,” she said, idly stirring her drink with a finger. Dagna had got her onto the idea of mixing fruit juice with the strong, clear liquor from the Anderfels that Bull was a fan of. It was delicious, but she had to be careful if she wanted a clear head. She picked up her cards, and her lips twisted. A five, a seven, a king, and a pair of twos. “I fold,” she said, tossing her cards to the table and leaning her chin in her hand.

“Are you all right, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked, nudging her with an elbow.

“What have I told you about calling me that when we aren't working?” Misyl grumbled.

“I apologize. It is an old habit.” Cassandra replied. “Misyl, you seem troubled.”

“It's been a difficult few weeks,” Misyl said, though that was a ridiculous understatement. “Today, I found out something I didn't expect. You know that library down in the basement?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, thinking. “I believe so. I don't know why but I’m having trouble picturing it.”

“That's the thing. My ‘cousin’ found concealment magic on the library. Something like what Cole does, that makes you forget. Anyway, it was almost certainly Solas who did it.” Misyl shook her head, gritting her teeth. “He had so many secrets, and for what?”

The Seeker put a hand on her shoulder. “I know this is difficult for you, but I have to believe that everything has happened for a reason.”

“I wish I could,” Misyl said with a sigh. “I need some air.” She pushed back from the table and paced to the front door, striding out into the wind and starlight. Her feet led her out to the battlements, to the rarely visited wall beside the garden, just under the balcony of her quarters high above. She breathed in the cold night air, and the maelstrom of he thoughts slowed, letting her pick each one out and examine it. Whatever Solas had been hiding, there was nothing to be done about it now. He was gone. As Inquisitor, her eyes had to be focused on the future. And where that led, unfortunately, was to the Well of Sorrows. She had to swallow her fear. Ameridan’s face flashed through her mind. If she had to trudge through a bunch of creepy ancient elvhen magic, it helped that her teacher was so attractive. 

She hadn't wanted to consider Dorian's words. It was too soon. Things were too unsettled. But then, the world might end at any moment. Was it so wrong to want to find comfort in someone like Ameridan, who was full of warmth and humor, things right now in such short supply? And he knew, more than anyone else, the kind of burdens she wore as Inquisitor. She valued his advice, and wanted his friendship. Which was one good reason to stay away. She couldn't bear to lose another confidant to failed romance. But... Cullen believed Corypheus would strike soon, and Misyl thought that was probably true. If they survived that, perhaps she would be willing to take a chance.

***********************

The next day, Misyl shifted nervously, drumming her fingers on her desk. Josephine had given her the morning briefing over tea and pastries, as usual, and someone, probably Dorian, had pointedly placed an orange on the plate as well. Being from Tevinter, he had definite opinions on the healthfulness of a northern diet. Now that the ambassador was gone, there were plenty of things the Inquisitor could be doing with her time until Ameridan arrived, but she couldn’t concentrate. What if she’d waited to long and the full power of the Well was unreachable? What if the voices had not knowledge of Corypheus? What if he’d already found a new way to enter the Fade?

There was a knock on the door. Misyl dropped her pen and shook her head. The time for fretting was over. She walked to the door and pulled it open. Ameridan was standing in the door with a stack of books under his arm, but that wasn’t what really got her attention. Someone had given him a full set of Dalish leathers. They look practically new and fit him like a glove, which only served to remind her how tall and lean he was. “Well, look at you,” she said dazedly, incapable of uttering anything more intelligent. 

He grinned. “Someone in the tavern by the name of Dalish gave me these. They’re a bit different from what my clan was wearing eight hundred years ago, but it does make me feel a bit more like myself.”

“Dalish is one of the Bull’s Chargers, Iron Bull’s mercenaries. She’s not a mage, by the way," Misyl added with a smirk. “The staff is actually a bow with an aiming crystal.”

Ameridan’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I see. Well, I’ve brought some books that might help you, but they’re for later. I know you have many things to attend to, so we’d best get down to business.” His wording made the corner of Misyl’s mouth twitch upward, and she chastised herself. This wasn’t the time. 

Instead, she nodded and took a step back, allowing him to enter the room fully. “Where should we start?”

“First, we should find somewhere comfortable to sit. I usually meditate on the floor, but if you aren’t used to it, you may find it bothersome.” Misyl gave it a moment of thought.

“Let’s just try it over on the rug. I spent a lot of my life sitting on the ground; I won’t have you thinking I’ve gone soft already.”

“All right,” he said, still smiling. They sat down across from each other, close enough that if she reached out, she could touch him. But of course she didn’t. “Your spine should be straight, and your joints loose. Let your tension fall away.”

Misyl let out a slow breath, willing her muscles to relax. Hunters learned this skill, to use when stalking prey, and she fell back into it more easily than she would have guessed. “Good, lethallan. Now close your eyes. Listen to you breath moving in and out, your heart beating in your chest.”

This part was new. Of course, when you were hunting, you needed your eyes open. In the darkness behind her eyelids with her heartbeat loud in her ears, she felt like she was under the water of some primordial sea. “Let your mental barriers fall away. Do not be afraid. I will not allow anything to harm you.“ Ameridan’s voice was an anchor. She breathed in. There was no lie in his words, she was sure, so she let down her mental blocks. The voices of the Well of Sorrows rushed into her mind, and her head felt overcrowded. “What do you hear?” he asked.

“Hundreds of voices whispering. There’s too many. I can’t understand what they say,” she replied. Her heart was beating faster, and her fingers dug into the carpet.

“Be calm, lethallan. They are just voices. Why don’t you try asking them to be quiet?” Misyl blinked in surprise, before remembering to keep her eyes closed. She’d never thought of trying to speak to the voices before. It felt a bit ridiculous, but what did she have to lose?

 _Hello?_ Misyl said into her mind. There was sudden, deafening silence. _I… uh… need your help. I guess you know about Corypheus._ There was no sound, but she got a feeling of assent. _Right, so… we need to figure out a way to kill him, but he seems to be immortal. Do you have any advice about that?_ A flood of images rushed through her mind, stealing her breath, but then they seemed to coalesce into something solid. “The dragon!”

“Lethallan?” She hadn’t realized that she’d spoken aloud.

“Corypheus’s dragon is the key to his immortality,” she said, piecing together the information as it came to her. “But how do we defeat it?” As the words left her mouth, another stream of images flooded her mind. They came faster and faster, her vision turning white, and then she knew no more.

***************

She was floating on a cloud. Or in a cloud? Everything was hazy and white. Someone was humming a lullaby. “Where am I?” Misyl tried to say, but her mouth didn’t move. Her voice echoed around the empty space regardless. 

“You are where you have always been, da’len. But the knowledge of the Well proved overwhelming. Your consciousness, cast adrift, was thrown onto my shore, but I will send you back soon.” The speaker came into view, a beautiful Elvhen woman with long pale hair and golden eyes.

“Who are you?” Misyl said. Her logical mind was suspicious, but there was such a sense of peace and warmth emanating from this mystery person that it was difficult to hold onto her objections.

“I am Mythal. Or at least, that is the name you would know me by.” Misyl scowled. 

“I met someone claiming to be Mythal earlier. You can’t all be Mythal.” The elvhen woman laughed in the same way Misyl’s own mother had when she was a little girl and had said something particularly clever. It was full of affection and pride.

“You met Flemeth, the being that contains the greater part of my spirit. As you may or may not have guessed, her vengeance has corrupted her. I am what is left of Mythal that was, preserved in the memory of her followers. Perhaps I a bit less flawed than I was in life,” she said, laughing again.

It was hard not like her. Misyl frowned. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Only to warn you. Despite a great setback, Fen’harel has not abandoned his plans. He means well, but he has lost his way. You are in danger, as is all of Thedas, and time itself. Go to my altar for aid against Corypheus, but know that he is not your only foe.”

“Fen’harel? What are you talking about?” Misyl asked. “If the gods are out there, why don’t they help?” Mythal smiled.

“We will speak again. It is time for you to return.” The vision faded away and Misyl felt as if she was floating on a gentle breeze, and then she dropped into her body like a stone.

“Ugh,” she groaned, blinking against the bright light assaulting her eyes. 

“Misyl!” Ameridan’s face swam in front of her for a moment before solidifying. He was leaning over her prone body, his brow furrowed with concern. “By all the gods, are you all right? I should have been more cautious.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, allowing him to help her sit up. “I had a vision, or something. I saw Mythal… not Flemeth, but the goddess as she was. We have to go to her altar, in the southern Dales, to get help against Corypheus. I can show you on a map.”

“Be still a moment,” he said, his hand lingering on her shoulder. “If you need a map, I will bring you one.”

Her instinct was to jump up and mark it down immediately. In her experience, dreams faded upon waking, but this information was crisp and clear. “No, it's all right. I’ll get one from Josephine in a moment.”

“Are you sure you are well? You don’t need anything? A healer, or a glass of water?” Misyl smiled. He was usually so calm, it was endearing to see him fretting so much on her behalf. 

“I promise I’m fine. I just got overwhelmed for a minute. But thank you. Thank you for everything. It turns out that I really did just have to ask.”

He sighed. rocking back on his heels and running a hand over his hair. “I’m just glad you haven't been harmed, and that you found what you needed. I suppose you’ll be off as soon as possible.”

“You’re coming too,” she said with a grin. “Since you helped me find this information, you’ll have to see it through to the end. Plus, I’m pretty sure there's going to be a dragon, so I might need your advice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I finished the first draft of my novel and I'm just starting the second. Trying not to start any more fanfics lol.


	4. Justinian: The Altar of Mythal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misyl travels to the Altar of Mythal as her vision directed, accompanied by Cassandra, Varric, and, of course, Ameridan. After another meeting with Flemeth, they fight the guardian dragon, but when Misyl is injured, it forces Ameridan to confront his growing feelings.

The day was hot; the sun slanted down like lances through the trees, and the buzzing of insects was loud enough to drown out conversation. Misyl pulled the cloth from around her neck and wiped the sweat from her forehead before stealing a glance at Ameridan. He was wearing the Dalish leathers again, with a copper Inquisition badge on his left shoulder. 

In the month since they'd brought him from the Frostbacks, he seemed to have aged in reverse, the sun browning his skin and bringing freckles to his nose and golden highlights to his hair. Their efforts to hide his identity had only been halfway successful. Rumors of his survival had spread quickly, much to Josephine's annoyance, but then, most of the nobility had either laughed it off as ridiculous or received it as further evidence of the Inquisitor’s divinity. Either way, no one had come charging up to Skyhold demanding to see him, so they decided to leave the matter to rest.

With that worry removed, Ameridan easily found a place among Misyl’s inner circle, striking up a fast friendship with Dorian and Iron Bull, charming Cassandra and Josephine, and even earning grudging approval from Sera despite his ‘elfiness’. Now, he rode as if he'd been born in the saddle, moving in perfect sync with the horse while appearing to pay no attention to it. Instead, his eyes were turned upward and outward, looking at the trees that arched over the path, and beyond to the green hills in the distance. But then, as if he'd felt her attention on him, he met Misyl’s gaze and smiled.

“How does it compare to the last time you were here?” she asked, both out of curiosity and to gloss over her new habit of staring at him. 

“This forest was much different when I passed through it on my way to Stone Bear Hold, as you might guess. It used to be silver birch and aspen as far as the eye could see, all descendants of the first trees that sprouted in the wake of the war with Tevinter. A young forest, full of blue flowers I'd never seen before. These oak and ironwood are much larger; they make me feel like a child in comparison.”

“A child,” Misyl teased. “I mean, you look pretty good for 800 years old, but that's pushing it.” The slap of electrical shock he aimed at her backside was worth it. Even Cassandra chuckled.

“How much farther to this altar?” Varric asked once they had all recovered. “My rump feels like it's about to merge with this horse.”

“Quit your whining, Varric,” Cassandra said, but Misyl was already closing her eyes, opening her mind bit by bit until the voices of the Well were audible. She looked around and nodded. 

“It's right there,” she said, pointing toward a distant archway almost entirely concealed by vines. They dismounted and tied their horses to a nearby hedge, and the scouts got to work setting up camp. Misyl only knew a few from this group. Scout Harding was busy in Emprise de Lyon, and Misyl had sent Dorian there with Blackwall, Cole, and Sera to assist in recovery efforts. She tried not to worry about them too much.

“Ready to go see what this altar is all about?” she said, turning to her companions. 

Cassandra frowned. “I admit I am still a bit leery of the whole idea. The revelation that Mythal is alive and is also Flemeth is less than comforting. But my judgement is perhaps colored by the dim view the Chantry has always taken on the elven pantheon.”

“Not always,” Ameridan said. “In my day, there were many of us pushing to allow the Dalish to worship Andraste side by side with the Creators. I thought Drakon was open to the idea, but it seems my death changed him. Or perhaps revealed his true character,” he added with a twist of his mouth. 

Misyl put a hand on his arm. She knew he'd been reading a lot of history lately. Knowing what Drakon and his successors did to the People had to hurt. His green eyes met hers, warm and searching. “You met Mythal as well, did you not?” Cassandra asked, shattering the moment. “What did you think of her?”

Ameridan’s gaze lingered on Misyl a moment longer before he spoke. “I didn't doubt her claim, after I saw her take control of Misyl. She is clearly powerful and ancient. But neither did I see much resemblance with the goddess from our traditions. Clearly time has twisted her, or our tales were less than accurate. Perhaps both.”

“You’re taking the news well,” Varric observed. “I'm pretty sure if Andraste showed up and turned out to be… I don't know, a murderous old witch, Cassandra wouldn't be the only one having a kitten.” 

Ameridan laughed and the Seeker huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I've had a few weeks to think about it,” he said. “But if I have learned anything over my life, it is that very few truths are universal. Perhaps she once was a figure of love, family, and justice, or perhaps what the Ancient Elvhen saw as justice, we would see as unimaginable cruelty. Mythal matters less to me as a being than as a concept, something to aspire to.”

“The Chantry could use a few more people like you,” Varric said with an upward flick of his eyebrows.

“Quit trying to give Ameridan a new job,” Misyl said, nudging Varric with her elbow. “We still need him around.”

“And right now, we have an altar to find,” Ameridan finished. 

They pushed through the curtain of ivy and found themselves on a wide lawn encircled by high stone walls, similar to many places in the Emerald Graves. The main difference was that because it had been hidden so long, bereft of even visitors, the plants were more wild and overgrown. Elfroot and embrium grew in great patches, the puffballs of Orlesian dandies gone to seed were knocked into clouds of white by their passing. At the rear of the circle was a cluster of crystal grace, a flower that Misyl had always found particularly beautiful, and in the midst of that was the strange figure of a dragon-woman flanked by howling wolves.

“This the altar. What's left of it anyway,” Misyl said. “It's not quite like the other images I've seen of Mythal.”

“The dragon head is unusual,” Ameridan agreed. “And flanked by Fen’harel?”

“There were images of him in Mythal’s temple as well. I guess some people believe that Fen’harel wasn’t a betrayer, but a rebel. Though no one knows exactly what he rebelled against.” It was one of the things Solas and Morrigan had argued about more than once, which at the time had been a source of entertainment when there were few to be had.

“Interesting. Did the Well give you any guidance about what to do once you’re here?”

Misyl opened herself to the voices again. It still wasn’t a... comfortable sensation, but it was less frightening than it used to be. “They say to call to Mythal. That's all.” She took a deep breath and looked at the dragon face on the statue. The Dalish did not kneel before their gods. Never again would they submit, even to the Creators. But it had been a long time since she had prayed. An even longer time since she'd hoped for an answer. And which Mythal would appear?

“Mythal,” Misyl began. “We seek your aid. I drank from your Well, and the voices tell me that you can help us defeat Corypheus. He's trying to destroy the world, and he's not a fan of elves, so…”

The wind picked up, a powerful gust making dead leaves swirl around the altar. Misyl wasn't even a mage, but she could feel the change in the air, like a static charge. And then, appearing as if out of dense fog, stood Flemeth. “Inquisitors. We meet again,” she said with a smug sort of half-smile. 

Misyl frowned. She’d been hoping for the other Mythal. “The Well said you could help me defeat Corypheus. We have to take down his dragon, so he can't swap bodies anymore.”

“Indeed. I'm pleased to see that you're actually using the power of the Well, instead of letting it use you. You will need all the help you can get, for what is to come.”

Considering it was Mythal who'd been doing the using, it was an irritating piece of advice. “Can't you just tell me what's going to happen instead of a bunch of vague ominous warnings?” Misyl said, and Flemeth laughed heartily.

“The future is not a book I can open and read at leisure, girl. I have given you what warning I can. Time has become unstable. You cannot stop it. I am not even certain what _it_ is. But the Anchor gives you power, and I think that whatever cones to pass, you may be the only one who can set it right.”

None of that sounded good, but Misyl decided to concentrate on one problem at a time. “And Corypheus?’

“He still must be dealt with,” Flemeth agreed. She raised her hand toward the altar and a pulse of power went from her palm to the statue, which began to glow with a subtle red light. “The guardian of the altar has been called. Master the dragon, and she will aid you against Corypheus. Fail… and you'll be dead, and beyond worrying about the fate of the world,” she said with a bark of harsh laughter. “Good luck. I expect we’ll meet again.” And then Flemeth was gone in a cloud of smoke.

“I wish we could get around so easily,” Misyl muttered. A roar split the sky overhead, and she drew her daggers. “Time to fight. You all know the drill. Ameridan and Varric stay back. Cassandra takes point, I go for the belly.” The dragon landed in the circle, shaking the ground, and a barrier shimmered to life, skating over Misyl’s skin like a spring breeze. “Lets do this.”

*******************

The dragon was a magnificent beast, though not nearly as fearsome as Hakkon had been. It reminded him of his youth, training as an Emerald Knight, before he'd ended up leading the Seekers of Truth. Still, the dragon only captured half his attention. Maybe less. Misyl seemed to dominate his thoughts and his sight, her speed and grace. She was fierce, but never purposefully cruel. Nothing like Telana, and that was all to the good. 

His last love had been beautiful and wise, serene like a fresh snowfall. Calm when he was angry, and full of knowledge at a time in his life when he could hardly be bothered to sit still long enough to read a book. She had been what he needed, just as he had been for her, but now she was gone. It felt wrong… disloyal to her memory, to think of Misyl in the way that he increasingly did. When he had called Telana his heart, he had meant it. 

But there was another voice inside him, growing louder by the day. Did he truly have to mourn forever? Perhaps he might even be allowed to give his heart more than once in a lifetime...

He rolled out of the way as the dragon unleashed another gout of flame, and checked on the others as he got to his feet. Cassandra was looking a little ragged, but not in danger, and Varric was fine. Only a blur of red hair darting past the dragon’s foreleg told him Misyl was all right. He recast the barrier and flung a few ice spells in the dragon's face, glad that the odd little dwarven smith in the undercroft had made him a new staff of his own. 

The dragon roared. Cassandra hacked at its foreleg, yelling, and then… it sat down on its haunches like a well-trained dog. Misyl appeared from the other side, panting. “Guess that means we win.” She reached up and patted the dragon's snout, which nearly stopped Ameridan's heart, but the dragon only blew out a cloud of smoke. “We just have to call to Mythal when the time comes, and she’ll come and help, as long as I have one of her scales.” There was a bright yellow one on the ground at Misyl’s feet, and she picked it up and slipped it into her belt pouch. 

The dragon gave something like a satisfied snort and lumbered toward the edge of the circle before flapping into the air. Misyl grinned. “Good job everyone. Now we just have to get back to Skyhold and wait for Corypheus to show his ugly face so we can kick his blighted ass back to ancient Tevinter.”

Varric laughed. “That's definitely going in the book.”

“You cannot have the Inquisitor say ‘ass’ in the book, Varric,” Cassandra said, causing Varric to start complaining about realism and censorship. Ameridan couldn't help laughing, and then he felt a hand on his arm.

“You were a big help, as usual,” Misyl said, favoring him with a grin. Her eyes were the color of honey, and he felt himself being drawn in, but he also couldn't help noticing the lines of pain and fatigue in her face.

“You and Cassandra did most of the hard work. Are you certain you're all right?” 

“I'm fine. Just a little tired, and I think I've got a splinter in my armor or something,” she replied, bending to look at the gap under her right arm. The fabric was dark and wet. “Oh, boy,” she said faintly, staggering into his chest. He scooped her into his arms without hesitation.

“Misyl is hurt. I'm taking her to the camp,” he announced, not waiting for a reply. Varric cursed loudly,

“I can walk,” she protested, not very convincingly considering that her skin had turned a rather sickly grayish hue. 

“Just because you can doesn't make it a good idea,” Ameridan said, keeping his breaths measured and even. One thing he was good at was not panicking in the moment. The scouts scrambled out of the way as he brought her into one of the tents. Maker only knew what they thought he was up to. He sat her on the bedroll in the corner, and she swayed like a drunkard. “I'm going to take off your armor,” he said.

“Knew you wanted to get me naked,” she replied blearily. Blood rushed to his cheeks. He felt like a teenager being teased about a crush, which was ridiculous.

“Even if that were true, I would have picked a more romantic setting,” he managed to say as he pulled her arms free of her jacket and started unlacing the cuirass. Misyl giggled, somewhat hysterically.

Cassandra poked her head into the tent. “What happened? Is there anything I can do? We didn't bring a healer.”

“A clean cloth and warm water, for now. She has a wound under her armor. I'm just trying to see what's going on.” The Seeker nodded and disappeared again. With the laces undone, he slipped the armor over her shoulders. Misyl’s shirt was soaked in blood all down her right side, and he took another deep breath. “Can you get your shirt off so I can see?”

“I don't feel so good,” she said, and her eyes were wide, her expression vulnerable. He'd never seen anything like it from her before, and it felt like a physical blow.

“Everything is going to be fine. We won't let anything happen to you,” he said, and he started to lift her shirt over her head, trying to be as gentle as he could where the fabric stuck to the bloody skin. She hissed with pain as he pulled it over her right shoulder, and then it was done. 

“I have the water,” Cassandra said. “Blessed Maker, what happened?”

“I'm not sure yet. It may not be as serious as it looks, but if you wish to remain, you will have to be calm.”

“Yes, of course. I can do that,” the Seeker replied, blowing a breath out her nose. “What should I do?”

“For now, go on the other side, and keep Misyl calm while I clean the wound,” he said, dipping the cloth in the water. He started on the bottom of her ribs, slowly wiping away the blood and moving upward as he found nothing. She wasn't wearing a breast band, probably because a tightly laced cuirass was enough, which was a relief. He couldn't imagine trying to get that off her while she was injured.

Cassandra spoke to her in a low voice, halting, as if she couldn't decide what to say, and Misyl mostly listened in a daze, occasionally making noises of assent or discomfort as he finally found the source of the injury. “There we are,” he murmured. “She has a spine from the dragon's tail embedded in her side. You should hold her still while I pull it out.” Cassandra's eyes were wide, but she nodded and grabbed Misyl's wrists. She whimpered. “I'm sorry, Misyl. I'll be as quick as I can.”

He grasped the end in his fingers and pulled with steady pressure. It slid out with little resistance, and he allowed himself a little relief that it wasn't barbed. But Misyl was breathing fast, and as he pulled the last bit free her gasps rose to a shriek of pain. He pressed the cloth to the wound. “It’s over. It's all right,” he said, stroking her hair to soothe her, and she leaned into him heavily, panting against his stomach.

Cassandra arched an eyebrow, and he couldn't think of anything to say. “That came out of her?” she said, looking at the three inch spine with both alarm and admiration. “Will she recover without a Healer?”

“I’m not an expert, but I think the wound itself is not serious. It will probably be painful for a few days. The real issue is those spines are usually venomous. She’ll have to take it easy, at least for tonight, until the venom wears off. In my experience, there shouldn’t be any long-term damage, but someone should stay with her. Sometimes the poison causes hallucinations.”

“Isn't there an antidote?” Ameridan shook his head.

“If we had an alchemist with us, they might be able to brew something up using the spine as a component. But her best bet is to rest until it wears off, and make sure she drinks plenty of water.”

Cassandra nodded. “I will stay with her. I am grateful you were here with us, but I am sure you need rest.” He was tired, but at the same time loathe to leave her. What if something happened? He would never be able to forgive himself for failing her in the same way he had failed Telana. Worse even, because to lose Misyl could well mean losing the whole world.

“No,” Misyl interjected suddenly. Her eyes were widely dilated, but her words were clear. “I want… I would rather have Ameridan stay.”

He and Cassandra looked at each other helplessly for half a breath. The Seeker shrugged. “If that is what you want.”

“I don't mind,” he said. Misyl was his friend first, and if she needed him to be here, he would. That was another reason he was wary of pursuing his attraction. In this strange new world he found himself in, Misyl was the only person he could truly count as a friend. The others were too awed by him, though perhaps that would change with time. He only hoped Cassandra wouldn't be too offended by Misyl's sudden insistence, especially since he wasn’t even sure what she meant by it. “Just let me change out of my armor.” 

Varric was sitting in the center of camp when he emerged from the tent, utterly failing to look unworried. “How's she doing?” he asked, putting down the quill he'd been twirling between his fingers.

“She's fine. I pulled a dragon spine out of her side, and I'm going to keep an eye on her tonight, in case it was poisonous, but I expect her to be mostly recovered by tomorrow morning.”

“That's good to hear,” Varric said, sighing. “Guess we've learned a lesson about not bringing a healer even on a short trip. I'm glad you were here to patch her up.”

“Me too,” Ameridan said. “She does seem to get herself into a great deal of trouble.”

“The joys of being the Inquisitor, I guess,” Varric replied with a shrug.

“I am somewhat familiar with that,” Ameridan said, and he went to the other tent to change into some more comfortable clothes. When he got back to Misyl's tent, Cassandra had helped her dress, which was a relief. Now that there was no danger, it would have been difficult not to stare at her bared skin.

“Any change?” he asked, tossing his own bedroll in the corner.

“You were right about the wound. It is not even bleeding now, but she does seem a bit… confused,” Cassandra said.

“Is Ameridan here? Tell him to come look at the pretty rainbow,” Misyl murmured hazily as she stared at the roof of the tent.

“I see,” Ameridan said with a half-smile. “I will be there in a moment, lethallan.”

“You're certain you will be all right with her?” Cassandra asked, but he wondered if that was what she really meant. He wasn't so foolish as to believe that no one had noticed his interest. Her friends were protective of her, which was not a bad problem to have.

“You're welcome to stay if you're concerned, but I think we’ll be fine. My hope is that she’ll sleep through most of it.”

The Seeker shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “No, I… I hope you will not find this… completely ridiculous, but the Inquisitor… Misyl is quite… fond of you. After what happened with Solas… I would not like to see her heart broken again. I hope you will let her down gently.”

He blinked. That hadn't gone the way he expected, but once he recovered, he couldn't help laughing. “You misunderstand my intentions, Cassandra. I would prefer not to let her down at all.”

Cassandra blushed. “You mean… you... I didn't think..?”

“Misyl is a remarkable woman. I've been trying to give us both space to grieve. Her friendship is much more important to me than… other things, but if she will have me, I will be here. After Corypheus is defeated perhaps we will have time to discuss it.”

“Then, please, forget I said anything,” Cassandra said. “I mean it. If Misyl found out, or Maker forbid, Varric, I will never live it down.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he said. “I hope you will also not speak of this to Misyl. She has enough to worry about at present.”

Once Cassandra had taken her leave, with a promise to bring them dinner when it was done, Ameridan went over to Misyl. She was sitting on her bedroll propped up against her pack, humming to herself. “How are you feeling?”

“My head feels like it's floating in the clouds, but it’s left my body behind,” she said dreamily. “My side doesn't hurt anymore though. This venom isn't so bad.”

It was likely to get worse before it got better. He had watched, and even experienced, the frightening hallucinations that often resulted from dragon venom. However, he elected not to mention that, knowing it could become a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. “I am glad you aren't in any pain,” he said, taking a seat next to her on the ground. “You had me worried there, for a moment.”

She rolled to look at him, her eyes wide. He had the strange feeling that she could see right into the depths of his soul, and he fought the urge to look away. “Really? You always seem so calm. I feel privileged, to be fretted over,” she said with a playfully innocent smile.

Something about her expression disarmed him so much that he could hardly believe what came out of his mouth. “Of course I was afraid. You are important to me… to everyone,” he amended, hoping his ears weren't as red as they suddenly felt. Now was hardly the time for confessions. “All of Thedas looks to you for hope. I don't want to imagine the reaction to news of your demise.”

Misyl only laughed. “Tevinter would probably declare a national holiday.” Before he could say anything else, she laid her head on his knee. “Tell me a story.”

He felt frozen to the spot, unsure whether this was a positive development. “What kind of story?” he managed to say, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“What was it like, growing up in the Dales? I can’t even imagine it.” His muscles started to relax. This was an easy subject to talk about, at least.

“When I was a child, Halamshiral was at the height of its power and splendor…” 

******************

Misyl awoke to sunlight streaming through the canvas above her head. It was going to be another hot day, and her mouth felt dry and sticky. She started to sit up before realizing the weight on her shoulder wasn't a heavy blanket. Hardly able to comprehend what knew to be true, she slowly turned her head to look up at Ameridan's sleeping face. 

Of course, she remembered now. She'd fallen asleep sometime during his account of his childhood in the Dales, lulled by images of a peaceful existence among the trees, the joy of discovering magic, the pride of belonging to the People when they were still free. But sometime in the night, she'd woken up screaming and drenched in sweat. Her dreams had been vivid and terrifying, a never-ending flight from a beast with too many eyes and gleaming teeth. It had seemed so real that she had nearly hurt Ameridan in her efforts to get away from the monster.

But he had held her and soothed her until the terror passed, somehow also managing to fend off Cassandra’s rather forceful attempts to assist. Eventually, reality had reasserted itself, and obviously Misyl had fallen asleep in his arms. It probably didn't mean anything, she told herself chidingly. He was just being a good friend, after she had practically begged him to stay. That was what she told herself, but as she watched him sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest, a small, gentle smile on his face, she couldn't help wanting to touch him. Even just to lay back down next to him and pretend. Creators, she had it bad.

She shook her head and slowly disengaged herself from his arms. Now wasn't the time to do anything stupid. 

Cassandra and Varric were already awake when she came out of the tent, and Varric grinned at her with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Looks like you're feeling better, Daggers. Must have been all that high-quality nursing care.”

She did her best not to blush. “I definitely learned my lesson about the importance of having a healer on call. And not to ignore dragon spines.”

Cassandra nodded. “I don't know what we would have done had Ameridan not been here. Even growing up with Anthony, I had no idea that dragons could be poisonous.”

“We would have been running back to Skyhold in a panic,” Varric agreed. “As it was, I'm pretty sure Cassandra nearly decapitated a scout last night.”

The Seeker snorted irritably. “In any case, we should return as soon as possible. If Corypheus were to arrive while the Inquisitor was not there, it could prove disastrous.”

“We’ll leave in a few hours,” Misyl agreed. “I think we can let Ameridan sleep a little longer. I know I gave him a rough time, last night.” Varric nearly choked with laughter, completely undeterred by the mug Misyl threw at his head.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have so many unfinished fanfics but I have wanted to write about Ameridan for so long. Also check out my Tumblr at either dragynfox or kitswritingdesk to get updates on my novel, Silver and Thorn


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